i'm in here
by mia101
Summary: Cho and Summer figure one another out, for better or for worse. Rated T/M for the possibility in later chapters. Post 4x08.
1. Chapter 1

**_a/n: so, after years of writing nothing, a character that is on screen for under 10 minutes pushes me back into ficland. who woulda thunkit? not me. :) this won't be too long, maybe a few chapters, unless for some reason i get caught up in it and surprise myself. i have been hot/cold about the mentalist this season, but found cho's response to summer, and especially their intense encounter at the bar to be really intriguing. hopefully you did, too. xoxo mia_  
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**T**he first time he calls her, it is just after the New Year. She's still wet from the shower, slightly shivering, but she answers the phone anyway, recognizing the ring tone she's programmed just for him, so she'll know. Wrapping a towel around herself, she clutches it together with her fist as she slips the phone between her shoulder and ear.

"Hello, Kimball."

He gives her a time and a place. Jotting it down quickly on the inside of her arm, she can't help but say, "Sorry I almost didn't pick up. I was in the shower."

He's silent on the other end for a moment, but in the end, he doesn't acknowledge anything, and it really doesn't surprise her. He just repeats the time and place, and hangs up.

o ~ 0 ~ o

**S**he wears her most outrageous outfit on purpose, just to be obnoxious. He's chosen a normal bar, but she comes in with a skirt so short it even makes _her_ feel a bit ridiculous, and a shirt that might actually have trouble winning that classification. Tall leather boots. In contrast, her hair is swept back in a fairly elegant chignon, and her makeup is simple, her perfume expensive.

He looks at her legs immediately, but has no other obvious reaction, which is a bit disappointing. She swings herself gracefully up onto the tall bar stool and crosses them, her skirt riding even further up her thigh as she swivels toward him.

"You going to buy me a drink first?"

He nods at the bartender, and she orders the nicest glass of champagne on the menu, but he doesn't even blink. He simply slides a picture across the bar toward her, sipping at his seltzer water. "You know this guy?"

She gives it a cursory glance, enjoying the bubbles on her tongue. "Mmm hmm."

"What about this one?"

She leans in a bit closer to look at it. "Yeah. That's Billy. He hangs out at Mix." She shrugs. "He's not big time, you know. What'd they do this time?"

"They're dead."

She tries to hide her surprise, does a decent job. "Well, that's too bad. Billy was kind of a creep, though."

"You know who would want them dead?"

She smiles slightly, scooting just a bit closer. "Most of the women in Sacramento, probably."

"I'm serious, Summer."

He _is_ serious. She puts down her glass, sighing. "You have your little doodle pad and a pen?"

She watches him as he jots down the names she mentions, the locations. His broad shoulders are tensed – his back is still bothering him. She'd teased him about it, just to get him worked up, but she's good with body language, especially men. In her line of work, it helps to know what someone needs before they do.

She wonders how he hurt it, if it was on the job. It's hard to imagine someone hurting him – he seems so solid and self-assured. It seems strange to imagine someone getting the drop on Kimball Cho.

He flips the notepad closed, and reaches in his pocket for some cash, sliding it toward her. It's usually her favorite part of the evening – when the cash comes out, and she's done. She used to ask for cash up front, but realized that if they really didn't want her to keep it they could usually take it back anyway, and that she often got more than she asked for after the fact.

She realizes she doesn't want him to leave. "That's it?" she asks smoothly, not giving anything away. "I've barely had a sip of my drink."

He barely glances at her as he tucks his notes away in the pocket of his suit jacket. "That's it."

He starts to step away, and she struggles to hide her disappointment. "Cho."

He turns to look at her, only a step away, and again, his gaze flickers over her body for the briefest of moments before settling on her face, his own eyes serious. He just waits – for her to get to the point.

She's not sure why she likes him. He's fairly rude, but maybe it's that he's fun to tease. That stoicism is fun to mess with, but he's also a challenge. This isn't a man who's ever going to pay for it. Everyone else she plays this game with, the outcome is already decided, which is tiring and boring and just a little bit sad, like a hunter chasing prey that's already dead. It's been awhile since she really felt frustrated, and it feels good. Like a wrapped package at Christmas without a clue as to what's in it.

"Nothing," she sighs, swiveling her stool back around, facing the bartender. "Thanks for the bubbly."

o ~ 0 ~ o

**B**y April, they have a fairly established pattern. He switches up the bars occasionally, but he calls every few weeks. Most of the time she can help him, sometimes not. But she always comes, she's always on time and picks up the phone after only a few rings.

He sweeps his eyes across the darkened room, searching for her, and he sees the sheen of her white blonde hair. The pink streak is gone now, and she has it swept back, her narrow frame perched on a stool, a straw at her lips as she smiles at the man next to her.

This time, she's called him.

He slips in to stand against the bar on her right, opposite the guy, and even though she has her back to him, he hears her smoky voice tell the man next to her that she's sorry, and would he please excuse her?

She turns toward him, and this time her eyes are serious, which makes his stomach flip a bit. Off duty, he nods at the bartender, ordering an IPA. "How did you know I was here?"

Her lips quirk up a bit on the left side, an almost smile, and her eyes soften for a moment. "I smelled you."

He frowns, shaking his head. "That's ridiculous."

She tilts her head a bit, holding on to her drink, giving him a practiced look, one that pays her bills. "It's true."

He realizes he has to stop himself from asking her what he smells like, that he wonders if she likes it. He doesn't wear cologne, but he shaves, wears deodorant, does his laundry.

He takes a sip of his beer, resting his elbows on the cherry wood of the bar, staring ahead. There is a mirror behind the bottles of liquor, and he can see her reflection next to his own. The short and low-cut dress is absent from where the mirror ends, and he can only see her face, which, if he admits it to himself, is beautiful.

"What do you want, Summer?"

She sets down her glass, turning towards him, and he shifts his weight to one side, also turning toward her, which is a mistake. He finds himself looking at the long, pale column of her throat and the exposed skin of her collarbone. She's milky white and her shoulders are delicately sloped.

"I need your help."

He nods. "I gathered as much."

She hesitates, biting her lower lip. "There's a guy – I need him off the streets."

He doesn't say anything, just waits for her to continue, but she doesn't, and he finally breaks the silence first. "Why?"

"He's… rough."

He swallows, his jaw tightening, but he keeps his eyes neutral. "What did he do to you?"

She shakes her head. "No, not me. A friend of mine. Beat her up pretty badly, actually," she says.

She's trying to sound cool about it, but she's trembling a bit, he can see it, and he clenches his jaw even tighter. He hates men who beat on women, which he figures most do, but he finds it's a particular brand of asshole who will beat on a hooker – a woman who already has to sell herself in the first place.

He clears his throat. "Will she testify to the assault?"

She shakes her head. "No, she's scared shitless. But that's not what you're going to bust him on. I have something better."

He listens, gets the details from her, watches as she discusses her friend, as her eyes shimmer. She never cries, though, her eyes never welling and threatening to spill.

He always feels like such an asshole when he watches her, the guilt rising up and mixing with his body's natural response. She's young – too young for him to be looking at like that, despite what she says and does. Her voice is sensual and melodic, and in contrast to the cheap, tight clothes she slips into, she always smells exotic and fresh, her teeth pearly white and straight when she smiles.

She sighs as she finishes the story, turning toward the bartender to signal him for another round, and a sparkly earring sways and shimmers against the delicate line of her jaw. He protests the second beer, but the bartender leaves it anyway. And when Summer turns back toward him, she drops her hand onto his arm and he flinches.

He can see the hurt flicker in her eyes briefly at his response to her touch, but she recovers quickly, leaving her hand there because she's bratty like that, and likes to see him squirm. Her seriousness is gone, having gotten her story off her chest, and she smiles at him again, but it seems slightly forced.

She thinks he's disgusted with her, probably, because of who she is and what she does, but truth is, he's disgusted with himself. For his response to her, for even _thinking_ about her when she's clearly so troubled or misguided to think this is the best way she can earn a living.

"How's the back?" she teases, leaning in closer, her eyes twinkling.

"Fine."

"I could make it better than fine," she says coyly, winking at him.

He just stares at her, unblinking, because it's what he does best, and he's suddenly scared, scared to _death_ that if he says something, if he admonishes her or pulls away or reacts in any way, she'll know just how much he's thought about her, about her naked, her touching him, about it being about something besides business, because then he could just pretend it was a pretty girl looking his way, flirting with him, and not what she really is.

But Summer is a hooker, and Summer is young, and he's arrested too many women, too many girls, caught too many of them in the act to want anything to do with this. And so he stares her down, and she takes a good long while to back off, finally easing back fully onto her stool and sipping at her drink coolly, taking his obvious rejection in stride. Maybe she thinks if she talks him into bed she'll have a cop in her pocket. Or maybe she just likes messing with him, messing with men in general, as payback for what she gets from them when they're alone. Maybe it's what makes it bearable for her.

Or maybe she's just a messed up girl and a pain in the ass.

"Your friend," he asks quietly, reaching for the beer she's ordered him, despite the fact that he shouldn't. "Is she alright?"

She looks at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, sizing him up, trying to determine if he's being genuine. Apparently he passes the test. "She's still in the hospital," she murmurs, sipping on her straw, her lips hugging the plastic. "I'm gonna visit her again tomorrow. He busted a bunch of her ribs, her jaw. She can't talk, so I tell her funny stories." She drums her long, slender fingers against he bar. "I'll bring her some flowers. She likes carnations, those fake colored ones, like the blue and green and pink." She grins suddenly, wrinkling her nose. "Do you know anyone who actually likes those?"

"No."

"Me either. Me, I like those big lilies. They smell _so_ good, you know? Sometimes I splurge and bring them home and my place smells amazing for days. I'm always sad to throw them out."

He pictures her, in those tight clothes, bringing home a big bouquet of flowers, of doing something simple like grocery shopping. He wonders if she owns anything that makes her look her real age, or is comfortable.

"What's _your_ favorite flower, big guy?" she teases, bumping her shoulder into his, nudging him. "Huh?"

He can't help it, and it happens again, as it so often does with her – he smiles. Just a small one, but he feels the tug of his lips.

"I have to go, Summer."

She sighs. "Yeah, ok."

He pulls some money out of his pocket, peeling off a few bills to leave for the drinks, and slides another small stack towards her. She surprises him by shoving it back.

"You're doing me a favor."

"I'm doing my job," he tells her. "It just happens to benefit you this time."

She shakes her head, and he wants to make her take it. Foolishly, for some reason, he thinks any amount of money he gives her for information is one less creep she has to get off.

But she's still shaking her head.

"Summer, take the money. It was good information. It isn't a favor."

But she puts her hand back on him, on his upper arm, and he feels her warmth through the starched cotton of his shirt he'd worn to work, now rolled halfway up his arms. "But you're doing it because I asked, " she whispers. "And I appreciate it."

When he walks away from her, she turns back to the man at the bar next to her, who had waited it out, waited his turn.

o ~ 0 ~ o

**I**n early May, she succeeds in getting him to her apartment. When he calls, she says she can't meet him at the bar he suggests, and she hears in his voice that he's desperate enough for what she can tell him that he'll do it. She'd seen him just two days ago, and he needs more.

She's decided to see how far she can push him this time. The more she sees him, the more she gets to know of him, the less easy it is to tease him, rile him up. She doesn't feel in control anymore, and she doesn't like it. She likes _him_, sure, but he's a cop, she's… well, she is who she is, and she needs an upper hand somehow. Especially after the help he'd given her last month. She feels like she still owes him. If he hadn't stepped in, chances are Carmen would be dead, and she would have had a real hard time with that one.

She puts on a flimsy robe, silky and nearly see-through. Her makeup is fresh, no lipstick. She's dialed the trampiness down a bit, knowing it bothers him just as much as it gets him hot, so it doesn't work in her favor. Still, the underwear she has on would make even a priest sweat.

When she opens the door for him, the robe is loosely tied, leaving a deep v between her breasts open and exposing her skin. The look on his face when he sees her is full of frustration – he's annoyed with her, both for making him come here, and for being dressed as she is.

But there's heat there, too.

"Sorry," she murmurs, pretending she's just getting up, yawning. "I didn't have time to get dressed."

"I called you more than forty minutes ago."

"I fell back asleep, okay?"

He waits in the doorway, and she tugs him in, shutting the door behind her. "Someone's not a morning person."

"It's nearly two o' clock, Summer."

She sees him pause, taking in her apartment. It's not a particularly nice one, definitely not in the nicest part of town, but she's made it her own, with colorful furniture and potted plants and books. She doesn't bring customers here. Ever.

"Do you want some coffee?" she asks, wandering off towards the kitchen.

"I want information," he says, frustrated, following her. "This is important."

"Yes, I know," she says, playing bored, pulling a bag of beans from the counter and shaking them into her grinder. "It's always important."

He's so impatient, it's everywhere, from his body language to his voice. He's dying to get out of her apartment. "Just tell me what I want to know," he demands.

"I haven't had my coffee yet," she says petulantly. "Give me a few minutes."

Well, _that_ pisses him off, because he suddenly walks towards her, grabbing her elbow and spinning her none too elegantly around to face him, tugging the coffee bean bag from her hands and slapping it on the counter. "Quit jerking me around."

Her heart is pounding, but she plays it cool, quirking her mouth up in another smile. "Trust me, this isn't me jerking you around."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

He practically growls at her, but she isn't scared, she's excited. His hands are now on the counter on either side of her, and her robe has come open even further, and she sees his gaze slip down, his jaw tightening further. She knew he would look.

She slides her hand inside his suit jacket, along the hard muscle of his stomach and around toward his hip, but he takes a step back, grabbing her wrist firmly but gently. "Summer, knock it off."

Tilting her chin up defiantly, she looks him in the eye. "Why?"

His breathing is different – he's trying to stay calm, but she can see it, see his adam's apple working. "Because," he says clearly, carefully, "I don't pay for sex."

It's out of her mouth before she can even think. "I'm not asking you to."

His nostrils flare at that, and he tries to take a step back, but she holds onto him, pressing her body against his, making him acknowledge her. He doesn't get to be a coward about this, she thinks.

But he surprises her, putting his hands on her waist and picking her up bodily, moving her to the side and out of his way so he can step around the counter, putting it between them, and she's left flushed, her own heart beating as fast as his had been against her.

Frustrated, she tugs the belt on her robe open, shrugging it off, standing there in her panties and bra. "Do you think I'm beautiful or not?"

He swallows, looking her in the eye. "Yes."

She starts around the counter, but he backs up a step. "Tell me what I need to know, or I'm leaving."

Her eyes narrow. "Don't you mean, 'tell me what I need to know _and_ I'm leaving?'"

He just stares at her, and she picks up her robe off the floor, pulling it back around herself. "Nathan Gaines. He lives above the auto shop on C street. He's the one who has it. At least, according to the guy I saw last night."

Frustrated and embarrassed, she turns back to hit the button on her coffee grinder, refusing to turn and look at him, and by the time the coffee machine is bubbling and hissing and she finally looks over her shoulder, he's gone, and there's a stack of bills on the counter. She sweeps at them angrily with her hand, and they float quietly to the floor.

o ~ 0 ~ o

**S**he hasn't responded to his calls in over thirty-six hours. True, it's been weeks since he's talked to her, but she's always answered.

"Summer!" he shouts, pounding on her door. "Open up!"

The guy she helped him put away months ago knows who she is, and he's back on the street due to a fuck-up by an assistant DA and an idiot cop. And even though she might just be mad at him, or avoiding him, he realizes he's scared something's happened to her.

"Summer!"

**S**he doesn't open the door, but he hears something from inside, and he takes a step back, kicking the door hard. It splinters at the hinge, but holds. He winds up his foot to kick again, and she suddenly wrenches the door open, her eyes blazing.

"What the _fuck,_ Kimball?"

What the fuck indeed. His chest heaving, he takes in her black eye, her split lip, and the enormous welt forming across her cheekbone, heading towards a bruise. "_Jesus_," he breathes.

She shrinks back, but he follows, grabbing her chin, forcing her to hold still while he examines her face, turning it slightly. The lobe of one ear is ripped, as if she had her earring tugged from it, and her throat is bruised. She's a mess.

Her eyes well up, and she jerks back. "Cut it out."

"Was it Brenner?" he asks sharply, shutting the door firmly behind him and following her as she escapes down the short hall.

"What?" she asks, surprised. "No. He's in jail."

"Didn't you get my messages?" he snaps, frustrated. But as she turns and looks at him blankly, he realizes that not only does she not know this creep is back out there, but it was some other asshole who beat the shit out of her.

He takes another step toward her and again, she steps back quickly, and he realizes instantly that she's _scared_ of him. Maybe not that he'd ever hurt her physically, but something's changed. She's scared he'll embarrass her, or of what he's thinking, seeing her like this. And he came in here, shouting at her, manhandling her.

He steps around her quietly, tugging open the freezer and pulling out a bag of frozen corn, breaking it up with his fingers and turning to hand it to her. She just stares at it, as if he's handing her a chocolate cake or a magazine.

Moving toward her more slowly, he reaches for her chin again, gently this time, and gingerly presses the corn against her face. She winces, her eyes dropping away from his, and he realizes she's humiliated.

"What happened?" he asks quietly, his voice strained.

She shrugs, taking the corn from him and dropping into one of the mismatched chairs at her small kitchen table. "Hazards of the job, you know? Except I can't sue for worker's comp."

"You can sue for something else," he mutters, crossing his arms across his chest.

She looks up at him, her eyes flashing. "Quit acting angry with me. You come in here, you almost _kick_ down my door, yelling, and now you're glaring at me."

"Summer," he says through gritted teeth, "tell me what happened."

"No."

And just like that, she gets up and walks away, toward the opposite end of her apartment.

He watches her walk away, and realizes she's limping. She's wearing a different robe this time, cotton, and slippers are on her feet. Her hair is in a ponytail, her damaged face scrubbed bare of makeup, her eyes red from crying. She has long underwear on underneath the robe, despite the fact that it's nearly 80 outside, the air conditioning clearly on high from the window unit.

She looks up at him from where she sits at the end of the bed, the frozen corn still pressed to her face. Hesitantly, he walks to her, sitting down. "I'm sorry."

She sniffs, not crying, but looking as if she might, and as if she has already today, maybe even several times. "Yeah, well, apology not accepted."

"Summer –"

"You gonna fix my door?"

He gets off the bed and squats in front of her, looking up into her face this time. "Summer."

She chews on her lip, looking everywhere but at him for a moment before finally settling on his eyes. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

She looks like she's considering his words for a minute, and then she sighs, dropping the bag of frozen veggies into her lap. "Are you going to make a big deal out of this?"

He nods.

She rolls her eyes. "Great. Poor, beat-up Summer. That's what you get for making your living on your back, right? Sometimes some asshole gets too rough?"

He nods again, but he touches her knee hesitantly. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

The look on her face is challenging, and he realizes just how tough this girl is. She's bruised up, probably just been raped, and she's worried about his judgment. He feels like an asshole.

She shrugs off her robe, and he can see the welts on her wrists, what look to be teeth marks along the edge of her tank top.

"Shit," he mutters. He stands up, trying to tug her to her feet. "Come on, you're going to the hospital."

"What? No."

Ignoring her, he shoves an arm under he knees, wraps the other around her back, and picks her up, and her eyes widen in alarm. "Put me down," she says, her voice wobbling.

But he ignores her, heading toward the door he'd almost kicked in, the crack running along the cheap wood, and he feels the muscles in her body start to relax, and she finally drops her head onto his shoulder as he steps out into the sun.

o ~ 0 ~ o

**S**he's startled when he pulls back the curtain in the exam room, not realizing he hasn't left. She is in the middle of an argument with the doctor. The woman clearly doesn't want to prescribe painkillers for what is apparently a broken rib, slightly sprained ankle, and a number of other bruises. Summer doesn't care if she gets the drugs or not, other than the fact that she resents the implication that because this doctor has guessed she's a call girl, she's probably an addict.

"Give her the prescription," he says flatly.

The doctor looks annoyed. "Sir –"

"She's not an addict."

The woman's eyes narrow. "Oh? So you think you're an expert on addicts?"

He wins, flashing his badge. "I'd say I've had some experience, yes. Now give her the drugs."

He has the piece of paper in his hand seconds later, and he hands it to her. She stares at it for a minute, not reaching for it, and he sighs, pocketing the script.

"Come on," he says, reaching for her, moving his arm around her back. "Let's get you to the pharmacy."

She stiffens. "I want to go home."

o ~ 0 ~ o

It's not until she's in his sedan that he breaks the news to her. "You can't go home."

She just stares at him, and he sighs. "Summer, Brenner is out. And he might put two and two together, and now…"

"Now what?"

He glances at her. "Now your door is broken."

"Oh, perfect," she mutters. "That's just great. So now where do I go?"

"I'm taking you to a hotel."

She feels a rush of panic. "_No_."

Her vehemence catches him off guard. "I'm not taking you to some shithole. It'll be nice, I promise. Just overnight, until the door is fixed."

"No."

He huffs. "What's the problem?"

"I work at hotels, I don't sleep at them. Get it?"

She can see he does, surprisingly, but he doesn't back down. "You can't go home."

"Then take me home with you."

He looks horrified. "Not happening."

"Gee, thanks. Act a little more disgusted at the idea."

He pulls the wheel to the right, jerking the car over to the shoulder, turning to look at her. "You're my CI. You work for me. It's not appropriate. Not even a little bit."

She purses her lips. "That's not why you said no and know you know it, Kimball."

He drops his head onto the backs of his hands on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, trying to keep his cool. It's surprising to see him so out of control. "Summer…"

"If you drop me at the hotel, I'll just leave."

"You're not staying at my house," he repeats.

o ~ 0 ~ o

"**Y**ou can have the bed," he murmurs, tossing his jacket on the back of his sofa. "I'll take the couch."

"I can sleep on the couch," she says, looking around his place, hopping through the door on her crutches.

He sets her bag down in his bedroom, moving to strip off the sheets, but she's already behind him, her crutches tucked under her armpits. "Leave them, it's fine."

Shaking his head, he goes to pull back the corner, but she moves to sit on the end of the bed, halting his progress. "Really, leave them," she says quietly. "I want you to leave them. I'll… feel safer."

She means his scent, he realizes, and it makes him freeze for a moment, looking at the back of her head, her ponytail drooping and half pulled out of it's tie. She's tired, he realizes, and in pain, and probably just wants to be home. The idea that she wants to sleep in his sheets freaks him out, though, and he feels a surge of both discomfort and desire.

Clearing his throat, he drops the blankets, walking past her toward the kitchen. "You hungry?"

"Not really."

He has her prescription in his pocket, and he knows she needs to take them with food. "I'm just going to grab you something to take with the painkillers."

He brings her toast, and she takes a few bites to satisfy him, the butter leaving a sheen on her lips that makes his mouth feel dry. He hands her water, and she takes the pill he presses into her palm.

When he drops down on the balls of his feet to remove her slippers for her, and the Velcro brace on her ankle, she finally speaks. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Taking care of me."

There is a challenge in her voice, but it wavers a bit, and she blinks, looking away from him, rubbing her eyes as if she's tired. The socks on her feet are old, there is a hole in the big toe, and for some reason it makes his breath hitch in his chest.

He clears his throat, trying to come up with something that at least resembles the truth. "Because you're hurt."

She looks back at him, just staring, her left eye shining in the center of the darkening bruise around it. Reaching out for her, he puts his hands under her armpits and scoots her back a bit, as if she's a little kid, gently swinging her legs up onto the bed, pulling the covers over her. "What you just took is going to make you drowsy pretty fast. You should rest."

She tucks under the blanket, wincing as she turns onto her side with her cracked rib, and when he leaves the room, she's got her back to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: _wow, thanks for the responses, guys. :) it's been awhile, so i feel sorta rusty, and i admit it's a bit of a challenge writing for someone who's only spent a few minutes on screen. this is fun, though, and reviews always keep things going for me for sure. i admit these next few bits are a little intense and a little angsty, but bear with me, okay? i've got a plan, i swear..._**

o ~ 0 ~ o

**W**hen she wakes up, it's dark in the room, and she blinks, trying to adjust to the light, still feeling groggy. Propping herself up on her elbows, she realizes he is in the room, at his closet.

"Hey," he says quietly, snapping on a small table lamp. "Sorry. I was getting clothes out for tomorrow. Did I wake you?"

She shakes her head, blinking again, trying to pull herself up to a sitting position and wincing at the effort.

"You want another Vicodin?"

She shakes her head no, but wonders if she should just take it. Her rib is aching like a bitch – it almost seems worse than before he took her to the hospital.

He sits on the bed next to her, shaking one from the bottle on the bedside table into his palm anyway. "Here. "

Her ponytail is almost completely gone, and she shoves at the loose strands hanging in her eyes. _Great. I probably look awesome right about now._

She rubs her eyes to clear them, still wearing her robe, and she can smell him on her clothes now, from sleeping in his sheets. It feels intimate, nice. It's the first time in a long time that she can remember having the smell of a man on her skin and not wanting desperately to shower.

She's warm, though, from all the blankets, and she tugs the robe off, handing it to him clumsily, and he looks at her awkwardly for a moment, like he doesn't know what to do with it. She notices his eyes drop to her chest – she's not wearing a bra under the tank top she has on.

It should bother her, him looking at her like that. At least now, lying in his bed, beat to hell, drugged up and tired. But it doesn't. It makes her shiver, suddenly, her stomach flipping, and she finally takes the pill he's offering, swallowing it down with the glass of water next to her, watching him watch her throat as she does it.

In the low light of the room, she can see it in his eyes, still there, along with the fear. Those feelings, they've both been there, hand in hand, since they met that fist day all those months ago, and she knows how much he's battled it, this attraction to her, and his guilt over it.

She decides that right now, she doesn't care. And the sudden rush of power she feels over him is as attractive to her as anything else about him.

Even with her ribs protesting, she suddenly reaches out, grabbing onto the tie he's still wearing, pulling him closer and pressing her mouth against his.

He stiffens instantly, jerking back an inch, but she's got his tie wrapped firmly around her fist. His hand covers hers, but he doesn't tug it from the silk. He just looks at her, so conflicted and unsure.

She inches closer, brushing her lips against his. He swallows, but stays put, and she licks his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth, and she feels him give up, give in, let go.

His hand slips into her hair, his fingers finally pulling it completely free from the elastic tie, and he tilts his head slightly, kissing her back.

She expected him to be more aggressive, but he kisses her gently, as if he's unhurried, and her pulse racing, she shifts her body closer. When she opens her mouth a little, he sweeps his tongue inside, and she realizes the whimper she hears comes from her own mouth.

Still drowsy from the drugs, she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back with her on the bed, and he follows, careful to prop himself above her to protect her battered torso from his weight.

He tastes like ginger and coffee, and smells masculine and clean, and she kisses him like she kisses someone who she wants, who she likes, not someone who sees her and gets out his wallet. She runs her hands along the broad and hard muscles of his shoulders, sliding down to the bare part of his arms and up again, her fingers under the hem of the sleeve.

His mouth is soft, his tongue velvety, and he kisses her deeply but gently, tracing the inside of her mouth, gliding over the pearl of her teeth, and she feels dizzy. Sliding her hands around his waist to his back, she tugs his shirt free from his pants gliding her fingers against his bare skin, pressing against his lower back to bring his body against hers as she tilts her hips up, despite the protest in her ribcage.

But he pulls back suddenly, his breathing uneven. "Summer –"

"Kimball," she murmurs against his lips. "Don't stop."

"We have to," he says, untangling himself from her and sitting up, running his hands over his face. "You're hurt, and I'm –"

"What?" she challenges. "Taking advantage?"

"Yes."

Her heart thumps, and it hurts, that he says it. She reaches for him, and he jumps up, off the bed, away from her, and she's too sore to follow. She feels her lower lip tremble, his rejection stinging more than she would have assumed it could.

Getting ahold of herself, she sticks her chin out slightly, clenching her teeth. "I need to go to the bathroom."

He's a few feet from her, out of the direct glow of the lamp on his dresser, and he nods. "You need help?"

She scoffs, and he clears his throat, clearly embarrassed. "Getting up, I mean. Walking there."

"No," she mutters, pulling up the strap on her tank top that his hand had pushed down over her shoulder. "I just need my crutches."

He hands them to her, but she struggles to get off the bed. She still feels groggy, and his bed is low – it's hard to push herself up to the height of the crutches.

He takes them from her instead, picking her up again, and she grips him to hold on, but glares at him crossly. "Quit _carrying_ me."

He sets her down gently at the door of the bathroom, and she can see that she can get herself around inside by holding on to the sink and against the wall – it's not that big.

He doesn't look at her as he reaches to shut the door. "Let me know when you're done."

Standing in front of the mirror, she pushes her hair out of her eyes, gazing at her reflection. The bruise around her eye is shifting to a darker purple, but the swelling has gone down, her eye open normally. The marks on her neck are more noticeable, and she tilts her head from side to side, checking out the damage. No wonder he doesn't want to touch her. She looks like a punching bag, and her face is beat up because some guy she took money from so he could fuck her liked it rough.

Trembling, she sinks down to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, reaching out to touch her lips with the very tips of her fingers. Men kiss her – she's no Pretty Woman who doesn't allow it. But no one's ever kissed her like that before, like they wanted to kiss her purely for the pleasure of it, not as some pretense to a main event.

She's so curious about him, and it stings that he doesn't want her – not enough to get over his own hang-ups, anyway. She's trash to him, someone who has information that helps him out, and she makes him hard, sure, but he wishes that she didn't. Frustrated at the tears that sting her eyes, she tugs a sheet of toilet paper from the roll next to her, swiping at her cheeks.

o ~ 0 ~ o

**S**itting in the darkness of his living room, he stares at his bedroom door, his fingers tightly gripping the glass of bourbon in his hand. He'd had to dig to the back of his cupboard for it – he hasn't bought anything stronger than beer in ages.

Sighing, he leans back against the sofa, rubbing his forehead, setting the glass on his thigh. He needs to get her out of here tomorrow. He can repair the door of her apartment, or pay her super to do it, but Brenner is still a possible risk, and with Summer beat to hell the way she is, she wouldn't even be able to run from him or fight back.

It's a probably a long shot that the man would put two and two together, but he still feels sick to his stomach at the thought of her alone in that apartment. He wonders if he can talk Grace into letting her stay at her place for awhile, or Lisbon. Neither of them would particularly like it, but Wayne would be putty in that girl's hands.

And she sure as fuck can't stay here.

He closes his eyes, pressing his hand on the heavy feeling in his crotch. He can't believe he kissed her like that, let anything happen, touched her. And he knows he hurt her again, jumping away from her like that. He'd seen her expression, caught the tightening in her jaw.

Truth is, he's gloriously, horribly fucked when it comes to this girl, because he continuously finds himself doing and saying things without thinking. And that's what he does, _always._ He thinks first, acts second. It's safe that way, it's smart - it's the best way to survive in a world like this, the world he's in. He should know that better than anyone.

Her fingers on his skin had felt light, delicate, whispering down his back. Despite waking from a deep, narcotic-induced sleep, she'd tasted clean, her tongue tangling with his, her body straining toward him.

Whatever game she's playing, he will not get swept up in it. He can't. Summer lives in a world where sex is currency, and whatever she wants from him, he's not selling, no matter how drawn to her he feels.

He takes another sip of bourbon, holding it in his mouth, letting it sting. Tries to think of how long it's been… months, not since he and Elise split. He pictures his ex-girlfriend's face, her easy smile, her soft eyes. Yeah, it's been awhile, which explains a lot.

Except Elise doesn't stay in his thoughts. As soon as he closes his eyes, he sees platinum blonde hair and lips quirking up in a knowing smile. He sees deep, rich, chocolate brown eyes gazing at him heatedly, feels the silky skin of her shoulder under his fingers, feels the taut tips of her breasts against his chest as she tugs him against her, hears her small moan.

"_Fuck,"_ he breathes, tossing back the rest of his drink. "Goddammit."

o ~ 0 ~ o

**H**is eyes snap open at the sound. Sitting up and kicking off the blanket he's thrown over his legs, he hears another moan come from behind his bedroom door and he freezes, his heart pounding.

Blearily searching for his t-shirt in the dark, he can't find it, and he pulls himself to his feet, pausing outside his door, pulling his watch up to see what time it is. Nearly 4am.

Swallowing, he still hesitates, unsure what to do. If she's in pain, she might need another pill.

"_NO."_

He hears it clearly, and his hesitation is over. Pushing open his door, he walks swiftly to his bed, looking down at her.

Her eyes are clenched tightly shut, her body snapped into a defensive curl, like a little pill bug, her fingers fisted in the blanket.

A nightmare. It must be. His heart pounding, he sits down, reaching out, but once again hesitating before touching her.

"Summer," he whispers loudly, trying to wake her.

She moans, her whole body going rigid, and he snaps on the light by his bed, seeing the dampness around her tightly closed eyes, her nostrils flaring in distress.

"_Summer," _he tries again, louder. "Hey, wake up. You're safe, okay?"

It does nothing to calm her, or wake her from whatever she's trapped in, so he gives up, touching her arm, trying to tug the blanket out of her fist.

She wakes up swinging, crying out at the pain it undoubtedly causes her, and he grabs her quickly, locking his arms around her like a vice to keep her still instead of squirming, to protect her ribs as well as himself.

"Hey, hey, hey," he soothes, his mouth by her ear, trying to keep his tone low. "Easy, Summer. _Easy_. It's me."

She sucks in a breath, her whole body going rigid, but he loosens his grip on her slightly, and she lets out a choking sob. "Cho."

"Hey," he murmurs, his hand coming up hesitantly to stroke her hair, trying to comfort her. "Hey, it's okay, alright? You're safe here. I promise."

He feels her body let go suddenly, her hands grabbing onto him, and she presses her face into his chest, her tears rushing out, wet against his bare chest. She's not delicately crying – she's a snotty, hiccupping mess, and she's squirming closer, hanging onto him, gasping air as she cries.

He's so unsure what's best, and he tries to rub her back, to run his fingers over her hair, to hold her close, but she's so worked up, he finally gives in and tugs her onto his lap, enveloping her as much as he can in his embrace, and after a few more moments, she's starting to settle down, her breathing coming more easily, her damp face pressed against his throat. She's still trembling, but at least she's quieted, pulling her knees up against him. He glances down at her feet against his thigh, at her toe poking through the hole in her socks, and he tugs the fabric up and over it, covering her.

He stays still for what seems like an eternity, until finally all he can hear is the sound of both of them breathing. But when he tries to move her off of him, to settle her back onto the mattress, she clutches to him tighter.

"Summer," he murmurs, "Let me just –"

"Don't leave me," she begs, in a whisper. "Please, Cho."

Again, he hesitates. He can't stay with her like this, it's so inappropriate – this whole _thing_ is inappropriate. But when he glances down at her, he sees such fear in her eyes that he knows that, at least for now, this isn't a game. She's scared, and when she blinks, he sees teardrops on the ends of her lashes, sees the dark circle under her eye that isn't already black and blue. She's been through enough.

Wrapping an arm around her, he sinks slowly back onto the sheets, tugging his blanket up around both of them. She shoves a leg between his, pressing against him, and he grits his teeth at her nearness, but she settles after that, her breathing soon steady, her body relaxing, and he knows she's asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: _so... this chapter goes a bit into the "M" territory, but then it pops back out into "T". i'm not sure exactly what i mean by that, but let's just say there is a portion that dips into "adult themes", if you will, so if you're not into that stuff, you may want to skip it. :) _**

**_thank you so much for all the positive feedback. i've realized, as i keep going with this, that i find myself headed in a direction i didn't expect, but i'm just going to roll with it - hopefully you will, too. as long as we're all still having fun, right?_**

o ~ 0 ~ o

**S**low and warm is how Summer wakes, her eyes opening slowly, the light from the sun making the sky a still cool grey-blue rather than a warm orange. She blinks, barely shifting her head, but freezes when she finds herself face to face with a sleeping Kimball Cho.

He's shirtless, wearing only boxers, his arms wrapped around her, one of her own slung across his waist. Her thigh is wedged between his, pressed intimately against him, and he's hard as a rock. It probably has nothing to do with her – it's morning, after all.

And he's frowning. _Figures_.

She considers her options. Her rib is aching, and as her stomach rumbles slightly, she realizes all she's had to eat in nearly twenty-four hours is the toast Cho made for her when they first came back from the hospital.

But… it's seductive being curled up against him like this, and despite the frown, his guard is down. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she shifts slightly, testing him, and he stays asleep. She moves even closer, pressing her thigh up against him, her hips closer, and the furrow in his brow gets deeper. But he sighs, pressing back with the same pressure.

Tucking her face into the bare skin of his throat, she inhales deeply. He's so warm and solid, the muscles in his arm bulging where it is thrown across her hip.

She's done this before – woken up next to someone. Years ago now, before she lost her job and dropped out of school. But the guy turned out to be an asshole, and lazy mornings in bed with a man don't exist for her anymore. She wonders how many women are out there doing exactly this at this very moment, snuggling close to a lover, feeling safe, feeling warm, feeling loved.

Except he doesn't love her, he isn't her lover. He doesn't want to be, and this is probably the only time he'll be this relaxed around her – and it's because he's unconscious.

Slipping her arm across his waist back towards his stomach, she trails her fingers lightly across his skin, over his hipbone. His eyelashes flutter, but he doesn't stir otherwise, and she continues exploring, her hand moving, barely whispering across the skin of his chest, settling against his collarbone before sweeping back down, lower.

He's so fascinating to her, this taciturn man who walks around, looking like he rarely has any fun when she knows he secretly does. He's strangely masculine, surprisingly sexy (and isn't _that_ weird, that she'd, of all people, find a _cop_ sexy) and nicer than she'd thought, too. She's here, after all, in his bed, recovering from a nightmare. And he'd stayed, like she'd asked. He got a jerk off the street for her, took her to the hospital, argued with a doctor for her… She still remembers the way he'd pressed that old bag of frozen corn against her swollen cheek. He cares, even if it's only a little bit.

She wants him to care more, _a lot more_. She wants him to look at her differently, to care enough to not just think of her as some living, breathing bad guy database or a call girl he secretly wants to screw. She wants him to do things for her, listen to her, respond to her.

She wants some control back. After last night, she feels like the balance has tipped too far in his favor. She'd snotted all over him, begged him to stay with her. She'd let him see how alone and scared she felt.

_Yeah, real attractive, Summer._

Chewing on her lip again, she studies his face. He's still so serious, even in his sleep, and she inches forward, grazing her lips across his jaw. He shifts slightly, sighing, and she repeats the kiss, placing one on his chin this time, then moving lower, nuzzling the skin along his neck and towards his ear, running her tongue along the lobe. He smells amazing, like man and soap and sleep, and she rubs the tip of her nose against him.

His arm tightens around her, his whole body slowly responding, his hips pressing forward against hers, and she moves back along his jaw to his mouth, covering his with her own, but gently. Like he kissed her last night.

A small sound escapes him, and his lips move slightly, an almost kiss in return, and so she runs her tongue along the seam of his mouth, licking, urging, and he's finally there with her, pushing, giving, his mouth open, his body turning to half cover hers.

Usually, the weight of a man on top of her bothers her. She feels trapped, out of control, and it's enough to make her disconnect, to pull herself out of her body and just wait for it to be over. But Cho's knee is pressing into the mattress, he's rocking himself against her hip, his tongue moving like a charmed snake in her mouth as she gasps into his, her fingers curling into his hair, massaging, clinging.

His eyes are still closed, but his body feels very much awake, and one of his large hands slips under the hem of her shirt, sliding up over her belly, rubbing against her before moving higher to fill his hand with her breast.

She feels a clutching in her crotch, strong and deep, and she undulates her hips up in the same rhythm, meeting his, moaning, suddenly completely and totally turned on and terrified by it at the same time. It was control that she'd wanted, and now she feels very much like it's the last thing she has.

He's kissing her everywhere – her throat, her shoulders, her collarbone. It's overwhelming, her head spinning, her body humming as he licks and nuzzles her skin. He tugs her tank top down, placing kisses along the top of her breasts, the valley between them, and she doesn't think, she just slides her hand down, down over his stomach, touching him through his boxers.

He stops moving.

Opening her eyes, she realizes his are also open, and he's looking right at her, his hair wild from her fingers, his eyes wide. There's no question about it – he's definitely one hundred percent awake now.

Breathing heavily, he stares at her, still half on top of her, and she can feel his heart beating wildly against her. She doesn't know what to do, what to say to rewind, to take them back to five minutes ago.

"Kimball –"

He drops his face to her shoulder suddenly, taking a deep breath before rolling off of her, covering his eyes with his hand. She can see he's still excited, his body still very much in the moment, but he doesn't touch her, doesn't speak, his chest rising and falling steadily.

Her own her own body throbs at the absence of his against her. She tries again. "Cho…"

"You're dangerous, lady."

She sits up, clutching the sheet to herself, glaring down at him, tugging his hand away from his eyes, making him look at her. "_Excuse me?"_

"This can't happen," he says flatly. "Understand? It _can't. Happen._"

"It already did," she snaps, an edge to her voice, frustrated. "Enough, anyway. I don't know what your problem is with this, but –"

His own eyes narrow. He sits up, facing her. "You don't know what my _problem _is? I'm a _cop_, Summer. And that's only the beginning of the 'problem' with this."

"Sure, hide behind that," she mutters, flopping back onto the bed, rolling over to her side and presenting him with her back.

He flips her back over, looming over her, his eyes flashing. "I'm not _hiding_ behind anything. _You_ charge men money to sleep with you. That's illegal, Summer. And yeah, you're my CI, and I look the other way, but I can't –"

"Can't what?" she challenges, propping herself up on her elbows, despite the protest and tightening in her side, getting in his face.

Frustrated, he climbs out of bed, legging himself into a pair of pants thrown over the back of a chair, zipping up as he tugs open his dresser drawer and digs for a shirt. "I'm going to find somewhere else for you to stay."

It's like he's dumped a cold bucket of water on her, and she sits up again, trembling. "No."

He won't look at her, grabbing a pair of shoes from the floor of his closet, keeping his back to her. "You can't _stay_ here," he says again.

"So, what, you're just throwing me out?" she asks hotly. "You broke my door."

He spins around finally. "God, _look _at you, Summer! Some guy puts you in the hospital yesterday, and you're here, in bed with me! Why is that?"

She raises her voice again, angry. "I don't know, I –"

He just looks at her, waiting.

"I don't know," she says, her voice small. "I just want you to –"

"What?"

Her eyes fill up with tears again, and she swears with everything she has, she won't shed them in front of him. She's so tired, so sore, sick of her life. "Like me," she blurts out, her voice wavering.

He just looks at her, dumbfounded, his arms hanging limply at his sides. "I _do_ like you."

"Yeah, sure you do," she scoffs, dropping the sheet, watching as his eyes involuntarily drop to her chest.

That pisses him off, and he lashes out at her. "God, you don't have to _fuck me _to get me to like you!"

She reacts as if he's slapped her, physically jerking back a bit, and she can see in his face he's sorry, really sorry, but he doesn't apologize. Instead, he leans over, the bed, bracing himself over her with his arms, looking her in the eye.

"We're not going to do this – play games. You can't do what you're doing, trying to get me worked up, to respond to you, and then blame me when I do." He takes a breath, closing his eyes for a minute before continuing. "I don't need sex from you, Summer, to help you, or to work with you. Understand?"

She doesn't say anything, just looks at him, her body numb at his words, not believing him, not really. He might _think_ that's true, might want to believe what he says about himself, but it's not. It never is.

"I'm finding someplace else for you to stay," he says again, pushing his upper body up and off the bed, moving toward the door.

"I want to go back to my apartment."

He pauses at his door. "You can't, not yet."

"Why the hell not?"

He stiffens, his shoulders squaring. "Because it's not safe. I want to be sure you're safe – then you can go home."

_Home._ She thinks of her apartment, of her life. She hears the shower turn on in a rush from the bathroom, and she sinks slowly back to the mattress, turning over to press her face against the pillow, her eyes squeezing shut.

o ~ 0 ~ o

**H**e's pouring coffee into his mug in the CBI kitchen when Jane wanders in, humming to himself, digging in the cupboards for his tea bags.

Cho hopes he won't talk, he's not in the mood, but that's probably why the consultant opens his mouth in the first place.

"So," he says casually, leaning against the counter, fixing him with a knowing look. "You fix that door for that little girlfriend of yours yet?"

Clenching his jaw, Cho breathes through his nose. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you nearly busted her door down, or so the story goes, anyway. That seems so primitive, Cho. You know what I think? I think that –"

"Who told you that?" he interrupts, trying to keep his voice even.

"Oh, Lisbon, of course. She says Summer even cleaned her house while she was at work the other day – on crutches, no less. Quite the houseguest. Maybe you should have let her stay, huh?"

"Shut up, Jane."

But his co-worker carries on, as if he hasn't even heard him. "She says she needs to go to the doctor today, though. Something about trading in the crutches for a walking boot of some sort. Lisbon's badgering her about it, but Summer seems pretty stubborn to me. I imagine her hesitation is due to a lack of insurance, but surely she can go to one of those free clinics –"

"When did _you_ see Summer?" he interrupts, stirring his coffee with a spoon, even though he hasn't added anything to it – he drinks it black.

Dunking his tea bag, Jane grins his Cheshire cat grin. "She's here, in Lisbon's office. She dragged her in with her today to try to bring her to the clinic on her lunch break, but now she's stuck in that interview room." He pauses. "Which means you should probably do it."

Cho slugs some of his coffee, scalding his throat, and he winces. "I'm busy. Maybe you can do it."

Jane shakes his head. "Nooo, no can do, my friend. I just made tea."

"Tea."

"Yes. But I'm sure you can find time to bring your girlfriend to the –"

"She's not my girlfriend. Quit calling her that. She's my CI."

"Well, she seems quite taken with you –"

Cho sets down his mug. "She's a prostitute," he says flatly. "Okay, Jane?"

The older man nods, taking a sip of his tea, watching Cho carefully, but he just crosses his arms across his chest, keeping his face expressionless.

But as Jane walks past him toward his couch, he pauses, patting him on the shoulder. "She's a prostitute… but weren't you a Playmate?" He grins. "No wait, that's not right. A Playboy? A gangbanger."

Cho turns and dumps his coffee into the sink, rubbing his eyes wearily.

o ~ 0 ~ o

**S**he's curled up on the couch in Lisbon's office, her crutches propped up near her, a book in her hand. He recognizes the cover – it's the book he's currently reading, that he left on his desk. She lifts her head when he opens the door, and her sees her eyes flicker with something – almost as if she's pleased to see him.

"Hi," he says awkwardly. "How are you feeling?"

He hasn't seen her in nearly four days. He's been fully immersed in both their current case, and in tracking Brenner's whereabouts when he's off the clock. He knows Lisbon is probably impatient to have her condo to herself again, but he's nervous to let Summer go home alone. Brenner's up to something, he's sure of it.

She shifts on the couch, facing him, dropping her book onto her knee. "Fine." She rolls her eyes. "Theresa thinks I need one of those walking boot things, but I keep telling her I'm fine. I'm almost good without the crutches now."

He drops down into a squat next to her, looking at her ankle, still wrapped in just a bandage. "Is it still swollen?"

She studies him seriously. "It's just a sprain, Kimball." But then her mouth quirks up in the corner. It's a small smile, but a playful one.

Her face is healing, the purple bruise around her eye fading to yellow, fainter now. She's dressed in sweats, in a t-shirt with Lisbon's alma matter plastered across the front. He feels a slight clutch in his chest at the evidence his boss is taking care of her so well.

He reaches out, slowly unwrapping the ace bandage from her ankle, and she lets him do it, sighing a bit with manufactured annoyance.

The bruise on her ankle is fading like the ones on her face, but it still looks puffy and uncomfortable to walk on. "C'mon," he murmurs, standing up. "We're going to the doctor."

"Cho –"

"I'll buy you a milkshake if you go," he jokes, surprising himself.

"I'm not seven," she says petulantly, but she smiles too, her eyes twinkling as she reaches for her crutches.


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: _hey, y'all... hope you guys had a fantastic new year. i'm back in sf (and at work, boo) and realized i hadn't updated in a few days. i'll admit, this is getting angsty, but i just can't seem to not go there. i bit off more than i could chew, maybe, to keep this light, and there's just no way i can picture it not going this way. it needs to get a little rough to get better, you know? ;)_**

**_xoxo mia_**

o ~ 0 ~ o

They have the beginnings of a fight at the doctor's office when Summer realizes how much both the visit and the walking cast are, and tries to stick with her crutches.

The doctor suggests the free clinic, and, annoyed and embarrassed that she has to talk about money, she says she feels fine to walk without it and tries to hobble around the room. She practically chews a hole in her cheek to keep from wincing or crying out.

Obviously uncomfortable about her being in pain, Kimball tries to pay, and she can barely disguise her horror. But he's stubborn, and so rather than throw down in the doctor's office, she allows it after a brief back and forth, red in the face and wanting to strangle him.

She hasn't worked in over a week. Rent is due next Tuesday, and while she has enough in her account, the hell if she was going to pay over three hundred dollars for plastic with velcro – but now she has to pay him back. There's no way she isn't paying him back.

He'd taken her to the county hospital when he'd found her, but she suddenly realizes he might have paid for some of that, too. _Crap._

By the time they're in the car, she's over the moon with her worry and frustration, which translates to a big fucking attitude.

"Don't ever do that to me again," she says through gritted teeth as she buckles herself in, wincing as she bumps her foot in the huge ungainly cast against the side of the door.

"You needed it," he says flatly.

"I didn't _need_ it. But now I own it, thanks to you, and I have to pay for it."

"I paid for it."

She slams her hand down on the dash. "No. _No._ I'm not letting you pay for it, I'm paying you back. Take me to my bank right now."

If she pays for it and the doctor's visit, she'll have depleted most of her small savings. Her stomach rolls at the thought of having to work with a cracked rib and sprained ankle. The bruises on her face are mostly faded, can be hidden with makeup. But the rib? All she needs is one fat bastard landing on her too hard and it will probably make her want to pass out.

"You can pay me later," he mutters, turning towards the CBI, clearly taking her back to deposit her in Lisbon's care.

Frustrated, near tears and having no idea how to voice what she's feeling, she squeezes her eyes shut tightly. "You suck."

He doesn't respond, ignoring her childish fit.

Pulling into the parking lot, he goes to unsnap his seatbelt, but she turns to him, grabbing his arm. "I want you," she says stiffly, "to fix my door and take me home."

He just stares at her, again silent, and she curses loudly. "God_dammit_, Cho! I'm not your fucking _captive._ Unless I'm arrested, I'm going home, broken door or not! Which is it going to be?"

She can't work if she's staying with Teresa Lisbon. There's no way a cop at the CBI is going to let her get dressed up and go out looking for a customer. But if she stays there, she runs out of money fast.

"It's not safe yet," he says, like a broken record, and she lets out a small screech of anger.

"I have to _work!_" she blurts out in a panic, not thinking.

His whole face changes, morphing quickly from blank stare to anger. "You're not going to _work_, Summer. No chance in hell."

It's possessive sounding as hell, and she freezes, staring at him. "_Excuse me?_"

"You heard me."

She digs into her bag, making sure she has her house keys, and reaches for the door handle, but he smacks the lock button on his door, and she snaps her head in his direction incredulously.

"No."

She fights for her inner zen, raising an eyebrow coolly. "You want to arrest me for solicitation? You have to prove it first. And good luck with that. Now let me out of this car – _now._"

"I found you," he says slowly, his voice dangerous, making her shiver as he leans closer, "beat up, with a broken rib, a busted up face and barely able to walk."

She sets her jaw, playing it his way, leaning closer. "I didn't ask for your help. I didn't want to go anywhere. But you made it so I can't go home, right? So I can't _work_." Realization dawns on her, and she laughs suddenly. "Oh my god. You did it all on _purpose._"

He just shakes his head at her, seething with his own anger. "I broke your door down because I was_ worried about you. _That's it."

"So fix it!"

"It's still not safe for you!"

She snorts in disbelief. "Why the hell not?"

"Brenner –"

"Oh, please," she says, rolling her eyes. "Brenner is _nothing_. He's too stupid to find his own ass. He's not coming after me and you know it. This is all a bunch of bullshit. You just don't want me to –"

"Damn _right_ I don't want you to!" he roars, and she jumps back, startled out of her own argument, just staring at him.

He takes a deep breath, clearly surprised by his own outburst. He rubs his face, sitting back in his seat, setting his hands on the steering wheel as he stares out at the brick wall in front of his parking space. "Summer," he says quietly. "You're smart, you're resourceful, you're… beautiful. You don't _have_ to do this shit. You're going to get yourself hurt, or killed, or just…" He trails off, shaking his head, not looking at her.

"Just what?"

He shakes his head slightly, his jaw flexing. "Why?"

She laughs harshly, despite the fact that her stomach is doing somersaults and she thinks she might throw up. "Why what? Why am I a hooker? Why do I _sell_ myself?" She stares straight ahead as well, at that red brick wall. "What do you want, Cho? Some childhood sob story? My stepdad messed with me, or something? Or some boyfriend used to knock me around?"

"Did they?" he asks suddenly, looking right at her, unflinching, and she has to look away.

"No."

"So what?" he mutters. "This was just your dream job, then?"

"Look," she says sharply, turning to face him again. "I left home because no one gave a shit whether or not I stayed, okay? And I went to college, but I lost my scholarship. And then my boyfriend broke up with me and moved out, sticking me with all the rent. No giant sob story, got it? I was broke, and no one was around to bail me out, and the landlord dumped me out on my ass. And I'm not the kind of person who really likes to sleep in a public park, alright?"

"So sex, for money, was your only option."

"Open. This. Door."

"You can't answer the question?"

Exasperated and again near tears, she finally looks at him again. "You want to make it that black and white? Fine. Yup, that was my only option. You win."

"Summer –"

"What the _hell_ would you know?" she snaps. "You wouldn't! You've probably got some great family you see on holidays, and birthdays! You probably call your mom every Saturday, and she mails you birthday cards and sends you home with leftovers when you go over for dinner in Tupperware with matching fucking lids!"

She's breathing heavily, her chest heaving, her eyes unfocused, and he's once again staring ahead instead of at her, his hands now in his lap.

"No," he says quietly, "I don't."

She swallows. "Yeah, right."

He leans back in his seat, still looking out the window at that damn wall. "Yes. Right." He pauses, as if he's deciding. "My mother died when I was four. My father worked a shitty job at the port, and barely learned to speak English and wanted me to work some shit job, too."

He finally looks at her, his eyes ominous. "So I joined a gang, and I did some pretty terrible shit. And then I got arrested and thrown in juvie, and when I got out I joined the military."

He hits the unlock button, and she hears the clunk as it releases. Unsnapping his seatbelt, he tugs the keys from the ignition. "I'll fix your door tomorrow."

She doesn't know what to say, so she just sits there, and he comes around and opens her door, holding it out for her, his hand out. She briefly considers not moving, waiting until he gives up and she can let herself out, but she stand up instead, his hand on her arm, and he's so close to her, his face only a few inches from hers when she tilts it up.

"I'll fix your door, and I don't want you to… go back to work."

He keeps his hand on her elbow as she makes her way, slowly, to the front door of the CBI, the breeze blowing her hair across her bare shoulders, her walking cast clunking softly against the pavement.


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n:_ ok, guys. i really struggled with this one. i've had a really rough week (my roommate and close friend since grade school is in the hospital and really_, _really sick) and i just couldn't decide what was right to do next with this. is it out of character? i don't know. i never used to struggle with this stuff... it just kind of spilled out. but it's a long time since i wrote something like this. and yes, we finally dip into major "M" territory here. sorry to those who didn't want it to go there and stay in the "T" category. i wasn't sure if i was going to do this, but decided to go with it and see where it leads me. hope you all enjoy. _**

o ~ 0 ~ o

Teresa drops her off at her apartment. Clunking up the steps carrying her small bag she's been living out of for days, she digs for her key, the new ones Teresa had pressed into her palm now on the ring. She almost walks past her apartment, looking for an old, scuffed door painted the same grey that schools and institutions and cheap apartment buildings use. Instead, a new door is in its place, the brass "2H" affixed to it. It's a sturdy door, wooden, and when she opens it tentatively, she sees a new, second deadbolt above the regular one, as well as a sliding chain lock.

She stares at them for a moment, dropping her bag into a faded and fraying armchair before heading to her bedroom. She yanks back the velcro on her boot, ripping it off and tossing it into the corner and flexing her ankle gently. Wearing heels will be a challenge, but she shouldn't have to be on her feet for too long.

Clothes fly from her closet as she tosses them onto the bed, and she tugs scraps of lace from her dresser drawer. If she takes a quick shower, she can be out the door in an hour.

o ~ 0 ~ o

"You're really beautiful," he says nervously, and Summer just smiles, albeit a bit painfully, as she sets her bag down in the hotel room. He seems nice enough – clearly either married or recently divorced – she can see the mark from his wedding band still on his finger. He's smaller, not very strong looking, with a pinched expression on his face. He's probably never done this before, or he's one of those repeat offenders who suffers from guilt about it. Of her options this evening, this one was the easiest, provided he doesn't want to talk about his wife after to make himself feel better.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she crosses her legs, trying to work up a coy smile. She says the right things, moves the right way, and within minutes he's on top of her, kissing her neck, his hand up her skirt.

She doesn't like the way he smells. He's wearing too much cologne or aftershave or something, and he was sweating heavily at some point during the day – either that, or he's got the nervous sweats. The combination of sweet and sour assaults her nose.

He's clumsy, too, his other hand knocking into her breast, struggling with the clasp of her bra. He mumbles his apologies, and she rolls her eyes in exasperation, hoping his nervousness leads to a quick ending. She considers helping him, but she realizes his struggle with her clothing is due to his eyes being clenched tightly shut.

It isn't until he fumbles with her panties that her exasperation takes a swift and sharp turn into panic. Even though he's not a particularly large man, his weight on her is suddenly oppressive. His breath is sharp and hot against her neck, and his hands feel clammy against her stomach.

She's about two seconds away from completely freaking out, she realizes.

"Wait," she suddenly says, her hands coming up between them to press against his chest. "Please."

Surprisingly, he does stop, scrambling off of her to kneel on the bed a few feet away, as if she might hurt _him,_ his face flushed, his pants tight in the crotch. "Oh, god, did I do something wrong?"

Embarrassed herself at her response, she runs her hand through her hair, struggling into a sitting position, her rib still protesting in her chest. "No," she mutters. "No, I'm sorry. I just… I'm feeling really, really sick all of a sudden, I'm sorry. I can't – I have to go."

He almost looks relieved, despite the obvious frustration she's going to leave him in. Apologizing again, she pulls her top back on, grabbing her bag, thrusting the cash he'd handed her when they'd walked in back toward him, but he shakes his head, walking away from her, muttering to himself, and she bolts.

o ~ 0 ~ o

_Fuck fuck fuck._ Fumbling with the new locks on her door, she finally succeeds in pushing her way into her apartment, her frustration at her inability to finish her job tonight working its way into panic, and her stomach flopping around as if a fish plucked from water was inside her belly. She feels nauseous.

Instead of heading to her bedroom, she walks slowly to her kitchen, her ankle smarting a bit. She kicks off her heels into the hallway.

Her nose picks up the scent before she sees them, but there they are – a huge vase of lilies sit on the tiny kitchen table, their scent already perfuming the whole room. She just breathes, staring at them, before sinking into the chair closest to the door. Already blooming, the bouquet of white and magenta blossoms are silky when she reaches out to touch a petal with her finger. She leans closer, inhaling deeply, and her stomach flips for an entirely different reason. Closing her eyes, she just sits there, the kitchen clock ticking as the second hand moves around and around, as the larger hands move closer and closer to midnight.

o ~ 0 ~ o

He's still damp from the shower when he hears the buzzer at his front door. Legging into a pair of sweat pants, he grabs a towel, scrubbing his hair to remove most of the moisture.

"Yeah?" he asks into the intercom. He isn't expecting anyone.

There is a pause, and he is about to walk away, assuming it's just someone trying to get in the front door of the building and ringing any resident who will pick up.

"It's me," her voice says, sounding tinny through the shitty speaker.

He freezes.

"Cho?" she says after a moment. "Can I come up?"

He stares at the panel by the door for a minute, warring with himself, but he finally punches the code to buzz her in.

By the time she's at the door to his condo, he's tugging on a t-shirt hurriedly, the cotton sticking to his skin. Exasperated, he realizes it's on inside out.

When he opens the door, she brushes past him, dressed in a short skirt, her feet, amazingly, in high heels. _Where the hell is her boot?_

It takes him two seconds to figure it out. The late hour, the clothes… she was out, searching for customers. He feels suddenly ill.

"You got me flowers," she says, point-blank.

He sighs, shutting the door behind her, trying to change the subject. "You're not wearing your walking cast."

"Didn't go with the outfit."

He sets his mouth in a grim line. She's pushing his buttons on purpose.

"You have anything to drink?" she murmurs, heading towards his kitchen.

It's because he hesitates that she beats him to it – she's not moving quickly, but she leaves the shoes on, a stubborn show of her will. The bottle he'd opened days ago is still on the counter, and she tugs down a glass from a cabinet, slugging the bourbon into it, taking a long swallow.

He's not in the mood for a fight, but she is. "Summer –"

"Flowers," she says, still holding onto the glass as he tries to take it from her. "Lilies. My favorite, right?"

He sighs.

She looks him right in the eye, hers shining in the light from above his stove, her cheeks flushed. He can only see the faintest of rings around her eye, the remnants of a bruise. Other than that, you'd never know, looking at her.

She suddenly drops the glass on the counter with a thud, reaching out quickly and grabbing the waist of his sweatpants, catching him so off guard that her mouth is on his before he can say a word.

Her tongue is hot as it sweeps through his mouth, her arms coming around him, pulling him closer as she presses her hips against his. He starts to fall forward at her tugging, and catches himself with his arms on the counter on either side of her.

He jerks his head back, or tries to, but she follows, one arm slung around his neck, the other still gripping the front of his pants.

"Summer!" he gets out, grappling for her shoulders, trying not to hurt her as he pushes her back to lock her against the counter, holding her still. "_Stop._"

"_C'mon._" she says through gritted teeth. "Just –"

"No."

Her chest heaves as she looks at him, her lips glossy and swollen from the kiss she's just given him, her eyes wild, and his body responds no matter what he tries to tell himself. "Why _not_?"

"You were just –" he gestures to her clothes, her shoes. "You expect me to… after –"

"I _didn't_," she spits out, her voice sounding hoarse. "All right?"

He must have looked unconvinced, because she suddenly pushes him back from her, grabbing the glass and walking out of the kitchen back towards his living room. "I didn't," she repeats, her throaty voice trailing back to him, the anger evident in her tone.

"So that's just your standard outfit for dropping by then?" he asks, knowing he sounds like a jerk.

A pillow from his couch hits him in the face – he doesn't even see it coming.

"Stop being an asshole!"

He steps closer and she picks up another pillow, ready to fling it his way, but he catches her wrist, and she drops the cushion.

"Why did you leave the flowers, Kimball?"

Her jaw is set, her eyes blazing. "Because," he says, awkwardly, "I broke your door. I was just –"

Her eyes narrow.

"Fine," he mutters. "I wanted to do something nice, okay?"

He still has her wrist, and she looks uncertain all of a sudden. He knows he shouldn't ask, but he does.

"Why didn't you?"

She tries to look angry, but her eyes glisten, and she can't look at him all of a sudden.

"Why?" he pushes.

"Maybe I lied," she says suddenly, raising her chin in defiance. "Maybe I did. Maybe I slept with _ten_ men tonight – what do you think about _that_?"

He doesn't say anything, he can't, knowing she's bluffing but hating the idea that it could even be a possibility, and she shudders suddenly, and her eyes do fill with tears as she tries to tug free from him.

"I couldn't, okay? Are you _happy_? I _couldn't_. That's why. Which is why I need you to –" She chokes on her words, reaching for him again, for his t-shirt, trying to tug it up over his head, and he fumbles for her hands, trying to stop her. "I don't want to think about you anymore!" she cries, giving up and stepping back. "But if we just _do this_ I can get over it, okay?"

He's stunned, and she blinks back a tear, swiping at her eyes angrily.

"You want me to sleep with you," he says slowly, "so that you can sleep with other men?"

"God," she says laughing angrily, "only you would put it like that." She shakes her head.

His head is spinning at her reasoning. He's angry and frustrated and turned on all together, and conflicted about all of it. She shouldn't even be here. He's so fucking angry that he bought those flowers all of a sudden, mad for sending her mixed messages and upsetting her like this, for confusing himself further. It had been a last minute decision, and it had blown up in his face.

She turns as if she's going to leave, and his shoulders slump, but instead she kicks off her shoes, and she storms into his bedroom.

Oh, _what?_

"Summer –" he barks, following her, his whole body ringing with her nearness, but she's shedding her top, yanking it over her head, flinging it in his direction, her scent smacking him in the face.

"You're wrecking my life," she accuses, shimmying her hips as she slides her skirt down them, tossing it in the corner of his room. "Until I met you, everything was _fine_."

"Summer," he says, trying to sound calm as more and more of her skin is revealed. "I'm not going to sleep with you."

She reaches behind herself, to release the clasp on her bra, and he lunges toward her, catching her arms, stopping her from removing the lace. "_Stop."_

She juts her chin out, looking up at him. "Don't you _get it?_" she hisses. "Sex didn't _matter_ before. It was a… a nothing. Just a thing I did. And now I –"

He swallows, a roaring between his ears. "Now what?" he rasps.

"Now I want to," she chokes out. "With you. I _want _to."

His heart breaks a little as she says it, and his body surges, his blood pounding faster through his veins. She's trembling, and he's still holding her in place, stopping her from stripping down further, and he can see her gather one last bit of courage.

"I want to know," she whispers, "what it feels like. To want someone."

He looks into the face of this damaged, smart, funny woman and he loses the war with himself. It was a losing battle to begin with, and he shifts his hold on her, his hand sliding down her arm and over to the bare skin of her waist and back, and her eyes show her surprise.

He hesitates one last moment, wondering if she's mistaking wanting comfort for sexual intimacy, but then he sees the heat flicker in her eyes, and he presses her lower back, pressing her into him, against him, and he covers her mouth with his.

She sighs into his kiss, pushing herself against him, her tongue meeting his, massaging, her mouth soft. He sinks into it, tasting the smoky-sweetness of the bourbon, running his own tongue over the pearl of her teeth, his fingers tracing the silky line of her spine.

She's pushing his t-shirt up, her own small, cool hands against his skin, and he lets her pull back from his kiss long enough to tug it over his head. She runs her fingers along his side, sweeping them down over his hip and back up his chest and across his shoulders, tilting her head, kissing him more deeply as now he is the one who fumbles for the clasp of her bra.

Tugging it from her, he cups her breasts in his hands, his thumb rasping over her right nipple, and she moans, her lips a breath from his, her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp. Her eyes meet his, hazy, the lids at half-mast.

His own breathing is erratic, his heart pounding as he seeks out her willing mouth again, his hands slipping down to cup her ass, and as he lifts, she wraps her legs around him, pressing herself intimately against him, and he turns, pushing her against the wall of his bedroom near the closet door, anchoring her there.

o ~ 0 ~ o

Summer tries to keep her wits, her brain feeling fuzzy, but she finds herself pressing back against the length of him. He's hard everywhere, muscular, and his lips slip to her throat, his tongue moving to trace her collarbone, slipping further down to tug a nipple into his hot mouth, teasing it with his tongue. She moans again, whimpering, saying his name, his _first_ name, clinging to his shoulders, her head dropping back against the wall with a soft thunk.

He spins suddenly, and the hard cool press of the wall is no longer at her back, instead it's the soft sheets of his bed. He is careful, not letting his weight fall on her still tender rib, and his kiss moves from her right breast to her left before moving lower, falling on the skin of her belly, whispering against her hip, falling against her thigh and the back of her kneecap.

She's never had this much attention given to her body in her life. Some men tried, sure, to get her to respond, but it was short-lived, giving it only a few seconds of effort before focusing on themselves. But Kimball suddenly moves slowly, his touch unhurried but passionate, his breath gentle against her skin. His tongue flickers against her ankle, his fingers warm against the arch of her foot, and he moves up the other leg slowly, her eyes on him all the while.

His hand sweeps up the inside of her thigh, his shoulders coming up between her legs, and then his mouth is there, kissing her right through the silk of her underwear, hot and damp, and she gaps out, her fingers curling into his hair, tugging.

He looks up at her, and, amazingly, he smiles, warmth in his eyes.

She manages a smile herself, her mouth wobbly, unsure, suddenly scared at the pounding of her blood through her body, of the waves running through her. She's felt the beginning flutters before, in the past, when she tried herself, or with boyfriends, but nothing like this.

"Cho…"

He slips his fingers around the edge of her underwear, and kisses her there, between her legs, his mouth hot, his tongue exploring, and she bucks her hips, crying out, shuddering. Part of her wants to pull away, but she presses toward him instead, her fingers tugging his hair more tightly. He teases her, flickering his tongue, pressing into her until she's so overwhelmed she's grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him back up, wanting the reassuring weight of his against her, wanting his tongue in her mouth.

She feels him now against her, and she reaches between them, inside his sweatpants, her fingers wrapping around him, the velvety smooth hardness, and he groans, dropping his head to her shoulder, his breath coming in fierce puffs against her neck.

"Condom," he gasps, kissing her shoulder, her ear, he chin, her cheek.

"In my bag," she manages. "On the floor."

He yanks himself away from her, moving quickly off the bed, dumping her bag upside down, the entire contents spilling onto the floor of his room, and he grabs what he's looking for, climbing back onto the bed, crawling on his hands and knees toward her, the look in his eyes making her tremble from head to toe.

She takes the packet from him, tearing it open, and together they push his pants down over his hips, and he kicks them off and free from his legs.

"Summer," he breathes, hesitating one more moment, his mouth an inch from hers. "Are you sure –"

She tilts her hips up, pressing against him, and he kisses her again, pressing his tongue into her mouth as he presses his body into hers, slipping in a few inches. She locks her legs around him, trying to press up, but he pulls back a bit, moving slightly, until her eyes flutter shut, her breath catching. His kiss again falls on her face, on her jaw, whispering against her ear, and then he reaches beneath her, cupping her body, cradling it, and he thrusts deep.

Her eyes fly open, her breath catching in her throat, and his lips hover over hers, his own breath bathing her face, her cheek as he moves with her. She wraps her arms around him, pressing on his broad and muscular lower back, urging him closer, gasping against his mouth.

She feels a tension in her pelvis, heat washing over her in waves, and she feels his warmth everywhere. Everything seems heightened, tight, pulsing, her hips quivering like a bowstring.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice next to her ear, and she struggles to do it, dragging her eyelids up, gazing into his eyes, and then she sees him, he's there, he's with her, making her feel this way, moving _with_ her, surrounding her.

"Oh!" she hiccups, gasping, and she feels as if her cells are tightening, shrinking. His eyes are dark pools, barely reflected in the lamplight, and she stretches, arching, still looking, seeing, and then it all reverses, everything, and it feels as if every cell explodes, and she finally closes her eyes, letting it wash over her in waves.


	6. Chapter 6

_**a/n: sorry for the very long hiatus. my life has been a series of stressors, and i have had zero time for writing. my roommate is still in critical care, and my time has centered around work or the hospital. but i didn't forget about this, and i did finally manage to see the second episode that summer appeared in, finally. i've obviously deviated quite a bit from canon, and i'm not sure what to think of the "i'm not a hooker anymore" with zero explanation bit, but oh well. **_

**_this update is not long, but i wanted to put something up. there's more coming, and more drama, i promise. :)_**

o ~ 0 ~ o

Something is tickling his nose, and when he opens his eyes, Summer's corn-silk hair is fanned out behind her on the pillow, and his face is half-buried in the strands.

She is tucked up against him, the skin of her back sleep-warmed against his chest, her breathing soft and even. He has an arm slung around her waist, keeping her tight against him, and he realizes he kept her like that with him all night long.

Wincing, he tries to pull his arm out from underneath her head, but she just sighs, turning against him and burrowing into the heat of his own body, the tip of her nose surprisingly chilly as she presses it into his shoulder.

He closes his eyes for a moment, considering just what it is he's gotten himself into. She'd wanted an exorcism, and in some crazy, deluded part of his mind he'd thought maybe he could accomplish the same thing by sleeping with her.

Instead, he just wants to touch her again.

The light of the morning should have been a harsh reminder, about who she is, what this was. But she just looks sweet and innocent and lovely, her hair a bit of a tangle, her skin pale and luminous in the light from the window. There is a slight crease in her cheek from the pillow now that she's turned toward him.

He has to go to work. He can't lay like this all day with her, never mind that he _shouldn't_.

"Summer," he murmurs, nudging her.

"Mmmmphh."

"Hey," he urges. "C'mon, we have to get up. I have to go to work."

She just snuggles in closer at his words, and he grits his teeth at his body's response as she slides her thigh against his own. She's clearly not awake, not really. Because this wasn't what she said she wanted.

She wanted to forget about him, to not think about him anymore. And it would be best for both of them. As it was, he knew he should end her role as a CI – it was inappropriate, considering what he'd just allowed to happen.

He tries again to remove his arm from underneath her, rolling onto his back, but she follows him, straddling his hips, her eyes finally open, bleary with sleep.

"Hey," she says, a lazy smile on her face.

He doesn't smile in return, studying her seriously. "Summer –"

"Uh oh," she murmurs, moving against him. "Is it lecture time? This can't happen again, I never should have let this happen, yadda yadda yad –"

She stops as he grabs her hips firmly, holding her in place, stopping her from squirming against him. He's aroused, and he knows she feels it, sees her eyes widen slightly, and then the coy look is back.

"That for me?"

He tries to shake his head, but she just laughs, her hands suddenly sliding up his sides along his ribs as she sinks down against him, her mouth suddenly open against his throat, kissing, licking.

_Oh, shit._

He moves to stop her, but finds himself instead holding her tightly against him, pressing his hips up against her slightly.

"Mmmm," she murmurs, amusement in her voice as she drags her lips along his jaw, rolling her hips against him firmly. "Morning Cho is as nice as –"

He thrusts his tongue in her mouth, kissing her aggressively, rolling with her so that he's on top of her again.

She responds in kind, locking her legs around him, her fingers running along his bare back, digging, massaging. He moves his hand between them, between her legs, and a moan bubbles up and out of her throat, back arching.

As he reaches for the little drawer on his bedside table, work is the last thing on his mind.

o ~ 0 ~ o

She hears the shower hissing from behind his bathroom door, and she rolls over lazily, pressing her face against the warm cotton of his pillow, the sun peeking through the wooden blinds on his bedroom window.

Her body still hums from what he did to her. It had felt like someone had set off firecracker as her release cannonballed through her, glitter in front of her eyes. Man, if sex was always like this, she could see how she could become a serious addict.

She considers joining him in the shower, surprising him, but she knows he's stressed he's running late for work, and she decides to stay put, stretching her arms above her head, enjoying the tug of her muscles. For the first time in a long time, her body feels good. Not aching, not tense, not frustrated. Just _good._

The vibration of his phone against the wood on his bedside table makes her turn her head, and she plucks it up, checking the display. He comes out of the bathroom door a moment later, steam following him, a chocolate brown towel circling his hips. Her pulse thumps, her belly flipping at the sight of him.

"Teresa's calling you," she manages, holding the phone out.

He takes it from her, pressing it between his shoulder and ear while he struggles into his clothes, listening to his boss, saying only a few words. He finally ends the call, tossing it onto his bed, and flips his collar up ,slipping the silk of a tie around his neck.

She climbs out from under the sheets, crawling across the bed to kneel at the end, taking the ends of tie from his hands, taking over the task. He looks at her seriously for a moment, but then his eyes flicker down over her, taking in her still-naked body, and she grins at him, her fingers making quick work of the tie, and the corners of him mouth quirk up in the smallest of smiles.

"I can be ready to go in a second," she says, her arms dropping away from the perfect knot she's tied.

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "Don't rush. Stay and sleep in. I have to go to a crime scene. But help yourself to breakfast. And coffee. Whatever you want."

She's surprised. Smoothing her hands over the bare skin of his forearms, she nods, dropping back on her heels. "Think you'll be at work late?"

He frowns slightly. "I don't know."

She nods, wondering if she went too far, implying that she might still be here when he got home, but then he meets her eyes again. "I'll see you tonight."

Her heart thumps. As he starts to move away from her, she reaches out, snagging his tie in her fist, tugging him back to her, and there it is again, that Mona Lisa smile of his. "Have a good day," she teases, tugging him down to plant a kiss on his mouth. "Hon."

He actually chuckles, but then he pauses, putting his hand over hers. "We should probably talk."

She sighs, releasing his tie from her fingers, smoothing it down against his chest. "Yeah, alright."

When the front door clicks shut, she flops back onto the bed, breathing in the scent of the two of them together, pulling the covers up over her head and rolling over to drift back to sleep.

o ~ 0 ~ o

His day is long, an endless series of questions, interrogations, of driving all the way from Sacramento to Santa Clara and back. It's nearly nine when he finally trudges up the steps to his condo, his back aching, his stomach rumbling.

He assumes she's long gone by now. Tugging his keys from his pocket, he can't decide whether he'd wanted to have her there or not. He'd said they should talk, had thought about what he would say all day, but he's so tired and so fucking confused at this point, he can barely form a proper argument.

But when he pushes open his door, the smell of something delicious hits his nose and his stomach growls more loudly, his mouth watering.

And when he reaches the kitchen, she's there, a beer in one hand, perched on the counter with her other hand stirring a pot of something on the stove, her bare legs swinging.

He can't conceal his surprise. "You cook?" He peeks into the pot. It looks like some sort of chicken soup.

She snorts. "Eh, sort of. I can read a recipe," she says, jerking her head towards a cookbook on the other side of the kitchen, something Elise had left. "This is the only recipe in the book that you had all the ingredients for."

He nods, opening his fridge, grabbing his own beer, spinning off the cap. It's only when he's about to take a sip that he really looks at her, and he freezes, the bottle an inch from his mouth.

She's wearing an apron – another leftover item from his breakup with Elise. And from the bare skin of her shoulders and the smooth reveal of her thighs, it looks like it's the only thing she's wearing.

His throat goes dry. "Summer."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Like my outfit?"

He throws back a long swallow of his drink, his eyes still fixed on her.

"I didn't have a change of clothes," she teases, shrugging her shoulders gently. "It was this or one of your t-shirts."

He takes a step towards her, his eyes flickering over her legs. "I thought we were going to talk."

She curves her lips into a knowing smile. "So talk."

"You're half-naked."

She extends her leg, her big toe nudging him. "I could be all-naked, if that's what you –"

She stops talking when he slides his hand up her bare calf, depositing his beer on the counter and stepping between her knees, his fingers sliding under the apron. She's got panties on, nothing else.

Her lips tug at the corners, threatening to break out into a grin. "Hi."

_Admit it. You're glad she's still here._

All the confusion and arousal he's fought when thinking of her all day comes to a head, and he suddenly snakes an arm around her waist, yanking her off the counter and carrying her over to the lower level of his small kitchen table, depositing her on top. Her laughter bubbles out in surprise, and she's already breathless, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt on his shoulders.

Sweeping a hand between her knees, he spreads her legs apart, dropping down between them, shoving her apron up, tugging the crotch of her panties aside.

"Oh, _god," _she breathes, her delicate fingers fisting in his hair at the first touch of his tongue.

The exotic taste of her has his head spinning, his pants growing uncomfortably tight in seconds. She drops back on her elbows, her head falling back, breathless sounds escaping her, and her hips shift at his ministrations.

When she tries to buck up against his face, he throws an arm across her belly to hold her still, his other hand sliding up the inside of her thigh to join his tongue.

In the back of his mind, a voice pesters him, reminding him that not only had he promised himself he would _not_ have sex with her again, but that they'd talk about why. Instead, he'd walked in the door and put himself between her legs in under three minutes.

_Nice work, Cho._

Gasping, she's tugging harder on his hair, a flush covering her whole body. She's close, and he knows it, her moans filling his kitchen. But then she tries to pull him up towards her mouth, grasping at his body, writhing, and he replaces his mouth with his fingers, sliding two inside of her while he stands back up, grabbing her chin, kissing her deeply. He's hard as a rock.

Moaning into his mouth, Summer moves against his hand, trying to wrap her legs around him, draw him in closer. She tugs a condom from the apron pocket, and his hand moves for his belt, ready to follow her lead.

But then he changes his mind suddenly, jerking her off the top of the table and spinning her around, bending her over it instead, pushing himself inside her.

She gasps his name again, pressing back against him, and he grasps her hip with one hand, the other slipping back between her legs to rub against her. She feels amazing, the sexual haze he's in blocking out the darkness of his day, the warmth of his house, the smell of dinner, the feel of her against him, around him. He's dizzy with it, and he realizes he's saying her name too, feels a tugging in his stomach as his climax builds, and when he feels her let go, he tumbles over the edge himself, pulling her up against his chest, pressing his face to the bare, damp skin of her neck.


End file.
